


A Chance Timeline

by NorthGalactic



Series: Porcelain Blue [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game), underswap
Genre: Am I hoping Delft becomes a tag?, Bad Bro AU, Can anyone say unhealthy coping mechanisms??, Covering my bases in the character tags, Deep breath AAAAAA, Delft is One Gay Disaster who causes his own woe, Edit: I havent figured out PMing yet, Gaster watching from the void: “what the fuck you dumbasses”, Gen, Is there implied reset shenanigans?, Papyrus Remembers Resets, Unreliable Narrator, absolutely - Freeform, absolutely not, am I going to elaborate on that?, delft: “I can’t believe I didn’t hold his hand when I had the chance”, for a given value of the term, so lemme just say yeah permission granted for recordings!, unintentional bad bro au, will I fill that tag myself?, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 08:20:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20386606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthGalactic/pseuds/NorthGalactic
Summary: Before Delft called himself Delft, he was simply... Sans. One in a million.(And then he was Delft, a Sans who in another life might have gone by Blue, or Blueberry, or any other variation... had he followed any monster except Nightmare. But this is before all of that.)





	A Chance Timeline

**Author's Note:**

> Oh geez, it is currently... 6:24 AM, and I started this around 7:30 PM? And I wrote this in one sitting while laughing gleefully at my discord’s reaction as I wrote, which is DEFINITELY something I’m not used to!
> 
> Now, for the important bit:
> 
> Delft, who is simply Sans for the duration of this fic, is a Sans from a question I once asked myself: “What would it take to get a Underswap Sans to follow someone like Nightmare?” And... this is the result. 
> 
> You can find out more at my discord (link on my tumblr) or my tumblr, kursed-pixels, where I also do art as well as reblog Undertale-centric content. Simply use the Delft tag if you’d like more Delft content there!

The day everything started to change for Sans, he must have been... maybe fifteen? Around thereabouts, at least. Papyrus was busier with college than ever before, writing essays and a thesis or two, sockets lit up excitedly in a way he seldom was about anything else. Papyrus had even shared with earnest eagerness that he was assisting on a special project for one of the guest speakers. A... (who? Sans couldn’t remember. A perfect hole the shape of this person existed and refused to be scrubbed away.)

Sans was happy for Papyrus! He was! Just a bit jealous of how Papyrus seemed to know exactly what he wanted out of life. But then, just as it seemed as if nothing bad could ever really happy — that nothing bad WOULD happen, because how could it? — Papyrus seemed to... for lack of a better term, simply run out of steam. 

His sockets suddenly appeared sunken with dark smudges under his eyes from sleepless night. Papyrus dropped out of his classes, not even bothering to come up with an excuse for it all, sometimes seeming overcome by a desperate fervor when he visited the labs during visits that Sans knew Papyrus thought he didn’t know about. It felt as though something momentous but terrible had happened, and try as he might Sans couldn’t remember just why he might think so, or... or why Papyrus would be bothered by it. 

Sans found that he suddenly couldn’t remember a lot of things, and this was how the end began. 

That was how the next year passed, and then the half-year after that, before Papyrus suddenly announced he wanted to move. 

Sans, probably seventeen by now and trying very hard not to think about the debt collectors, land lord or rudely written letters about money that could be found on their doorstep with increasing frequency, had been only too happy to agree. 

“What do you say about heading out all the way to Snowdin?” Papyrus had brought up after vetoing relocating somewhere else in Hotland. Sans had shrugged, grinning into the fabric of his long-beloved scarf, and peered slyly up at Papyrus from across the table. 

(It was just the two of them, but there was enough room for a third at the table. Sans tried not to think about the headaches it gave him to think too much about the spot, or the empty room neither of them ever entered.)

“Snow problem, Papyrus! No place is too cold for me!”

Papyrus opened his mouth, paused, grimaced, and then squinted suspiciously at Sans. 

“That was a pun, wasn’t it.”

“Me? Make a pun? Never,” he lied modestly. 

Sans ended up being a talented liar. 

So they moved to Snowdin with little fanfare, taking few of their precious belongings besides clothes and furniture. Papyrus also brought his super secret and important machine that had no purpose so far as Sans could, and he put it in the basement that Sans pretended he knew nothing about since Papyrus went through all the effort of trying to hide it. 

The residents of Snowdin were nice, at least! A little befuddled at their sudden appearance with no warning or even cursory explanation given, but Snowdin residents were apparently made of sterner stuff than those from Hotland. Well, except for Grillby, the fire monster who definitely had to have been from Hotland, too; he was a nice monster, though, always glad to have a merry enough chat with Sans on the occasion he stopped by. 

Sans thought that maybe the cafe owner was a bit bummed no one else seemed to fluently understand fire monster, which was why he tried to visit at least a couple of days of the week. It helped that the sweets and pastries Grillby made were really, genuinely good! Even if Papyrus DID make a face every time he saw them, calling the “sugar on steroids”. Clearly Sans was the only one with any taste!

Another year passed in Snowdin. 

Papyrus got a dead end job as a sentry, never working hard enough to earn a promotion but never quite managing to be fired, and that was their income. Sans ended up working part time for Grillby as a translator, who reluctantly admitted he’d like to hire Sans full time but couldn’t until he was twenty. 

But that was fine! Everything was just fine. And if Sans took up a couple of other part time jobs without mentioning them to anyone, then that was just how it was. Papyrus even seemed to slowly be recovering from his... sickness. Depression, maybe? Sans never knew what to call it, and calling it a phase seemed cruel. 

When the year was up, and he’d just turned nineteen, Sans met... someone new. Someone who seemed to know an awful lot about Sans without ever asking or having any sort of reason to know Sans at all. 

Coincidentally, meeting Temmie is also when Papyrus seemed to suffer a relapse. Sans wanted to chalk it up as coincidence no matter how dead Temmie’s doll face was without the exaggerated expressions they always made, but it was a lot harder to consider Papyrus stalking Sans whenever he was with Temmie as a coincidence. 

Luckily, Sans also met Alphys around this time, so it was easy to pretend to be swept up in her confidence and enthusiasm. If he happened to forget to hang out with Temmie, well, Sans was just bad at time management was all. No biggie! Sans would do better next time, he PROMISED. 

(The thing about always smiling and cracking jokes is that no one can tell when you’re really joking, and that was a joke unto itself.)

So, that was how the year ended. Sans enjoyed basking in Alphys’ genuine enthusiasm, and if she treated him as a kid sometimes, acting as if he didn’t know what they did to humans to get their souls when deeper topics like that were brought up, well, it was a small price to pay for some company that didn’t make Sans want to make sure his back was to a wall or make Papyrus stalk them. 

Papyrus, appearing more and more exhausted as the days went by, shadows under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders betraying his fatigue, made Sans inwardly flounder. He didn’t know how to combat the shadows following his brother, and when he tentatively brought up the subject Alphys had looked at Sans with such a pitying expression that Sans didn’t know how to better articulate what he’d meant. 

“By the way,” Alphys said one day after training, when they were both panting and sweating and dipping their feet in one of Waterfall’s steady streams to cool off. 

Sans made a lazy sound of acknowledgement at her voice to let her know he was listening, and Alphys continued. 

“How come you didn’t tell Papyrus we were doing this?”

“Doing what now?” Sans yawned. 

“You know,” she said, trying not to echo his yawn since yawning was contagious. “The whole... Royal Guard thing. The training, and all of that.” 

“I mention our spars,” Sans murmured. If Papyrus couldn’t catch a hint as to why Sans was training with the CAPTAIN of the Royal Guard, well, that wasn’t his fault. 

Alphys made a skeptical noise, laying on her back and staring at the faux-starry cave ceiling that glimmered in shone overhead. 

“Yeah? Papyrus seemed to think I was joking when I first mentioned it.” 

“Papyrus thinks lots of thinks are jokes! Which is hilarious since he doesn’t have a proper funny bone.” 

Alphys chortled under her breath. 

“I’ll say. But yeah, uh... if you were trying to keep it a secret, sorry? Just a heads up if your brother wants to talk about it later.” 

“I’ve told Pappy about training with you before,” Sans lied cheerfully. “Honestly, it’s like he doesn’t listen to me!”

When Sans reluctantly trudged home an hour later after a pleasant goodbye to Alphys, it was to the sight of Papyrus staring off into the distance in the kitchen, cutting celery despite clearly having already finished preparing dinner. 

“Brother!” Sans greeted as if nothing was amiss. 

“Sans,” Papyrus said in return, not smiling but not quite frowning. It was almost like he was schooling his expression. 

There was a bowl of salad already set up on the table. Noticeably, Papyrus hadn’t quite prepared himself one. Bracingly, Sans sat down and picked up the fork to eat as if this were all very casual and normal. 

“I don’t think you should try and be in the Royal Guard,” Papyrus announced slowly, voice controlled, and Sans took a deep breath, and very carefully DIDN’T clench his fingers. He sat his fork down, faced Papyrus, and waited. This was already more civil than he expected this talk to go. 

“I mean,” Papyrus said, fumbling but sincere, “You... kind of can’t. Royal Guards... they get in a lot of fights from monsters being rowdy and all, or even with humans and- I mean. I just, don’t think you can... because of, uh. You know.” 

“You can say it,” Sans said with pleasant sharpness. “My HP. You think I can’t because of my HoPe, right?”

There was a tense pause. 

“... I’m not saying it’s you, exactly,” Papyrus said even more slowly, voice almost coming across as a drawl with how carefully he was speaking, that old Hotland twang of his almost reentering his voice. 

“My HP is a pretty big part of me, last I checked!” Sans said with excruciating brightness and smiling, smiling, smiling. 

“It’s a disability,” Papyrus pointed out gently, and, wow, that burned a LOT more than Sans expected it to. His hands DID end up clenching at the kindly meant remark, and Sans had to hide them under the table before he did something rash, like throw a punch. Because that would be silly, and rude, and... and a bunch of other things Sans couldn’t think about, because he was actually really mad and trying not to be. 

Sans suddenly wanted to scream, and Papyrus looked so startled that for a moment Sans genuinely thought he’d gone ahead and done that aloud, but it took just a moment more to realize it was because his smile was dropping. 

Papyrus, still by the kitchen counter, sent Sans a tired but entirely empathetic look. 

“Bro... I get that you want to be in the Royal Guard. Believe me, I really do.”

No, Sans wanted to shout. No, you really, really don’t! I want to do science; the kind you threw away! I want to make things, I want everyone to know my name, I want to be important and known and for everyone to stop treating me like a child! 

“I know,” he said instead, tremulously. “But... I want to be in the Royal Guard! I’m GOOD at fighting, Papyrus! Alphys hasn’t landed a single hit on me!” 

“She’s the Captain for a reason, bro,” Papyrus pointed out. “I know you don’t wanna hear it, but... She’s going easy on you.” 

Sans thought Papyrus wouldn’t be quite so sure of that if he’d only stop and see how exhausted Alphys was by the end of their spars, unable to keep her axe held up high, breath coming in giddy gasps and wheezing. She looked exhilarated, and surely Alphys wouldn’t be so if she was only putting up a show. 

“She isn’t,” Sans dismissed, and guiltily took delight in how Papyrus’ face seemed to stiffen in annoyance. He wanted his brother to hurt how he was hurt, but that didn’t mean Sans wasn’t at least aware of how he felt and why. 

Papyrus seemed to be making an effort to remain totally cool and collected. 

“Bro... please, just listen. I know you want to continue training and stuff with Alphys, but... Look, it worries me, a lot. Can we talk about it?” 

“Are we going to talk about you drinking and staying out late more often than not?” Sans returned sweetly. 

There was an awkward pause. 

“I... didn’t know you knew about that,” Papyrus said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

Yeah, Sans wanted to remark with spiteful sarcasm, it turns out I know a lot more than you want me to. 

“I know a lot of things,” He said neutrally, instead. He looked at Papyrus, trying to breathe out calmly through his nose before he ran the risk of gritting his teeth. 

“I’m just worried,” Papyrus said, looking a mix of annoyed and worried that the conversation was being turned around on him. 

“And maybe I’m worried,” he returned quickly, voice waspish. “Maybe I’m worried that my older brother sleeps too much and drinks too much, but I don’t try and interfere because I know you’re an adult who can take care of yourself,” Sans finished pointedly. Papyrus’ expression grew a touch more irate, and the atmosphere was growing heavier with a sort of thick anticipation. 

“So I’m not allowed to worry about you when you’re worried about me?” Papyrus asked after a moment. It felt like a trap. Papyrus’ expression made it obvious it was a trap of some kind. Sans was probably falling for it head over heals, but he still bristled and opened his mouth to respond. 

“I think you need to make sure you’re okay before you try and control what I do in my free time,” Sans said firmly. 

The next thing Sans knew, they were fighting. Not physically, but verbally. It was like a very frayed string holding the peace had snapped, and the exhaustive emotions they were both pushing back constantly was pushed to the forefront. 

“ME?” Papyrus blurted incredulously, voice almost becoming downright mean. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“I’m not the one doing anything wrong!” Sans cried, dismayed, and Papyrus threw his hands in the air, still holding that kitchen knife. The sight of it being swung carelessly sent an odd thrumming ache in his chest, right across his ribs. 

“That’s rich!” Papyrus snapped back. “Oh, that is SO rich! I worry and I’m overbearing, but it’s okay when you do it?” 

“I didn’t say that!“

“No, you just did everything except say it outright!”

It was hard to breathe when Papyrus kept swinging the knife so carelessly, and Sans suddenly didn’t want to fight at all. 

“Pappy-“

“No! No, this time you’re going to listen-“

“P-Papyrus, please, just-“

“I said LISTEN!” 

Sans was moving before he could realize what had happened, choking halfway down the table when his scarf tugged and tightened around his neck, snagged on something. Papyrus audibly cut himself off, and the angry atmosphere from moments before had evaporated into something fragile and awkward. Sans slowly dragged himself up, and stared at the chair he was just sitting in. The knife Papyrus had been holding had clearly left his hand and wound its way in the chair, cutting his scarf and almost hitting Sans himself. 

Papyrus’ hand was still outstretched. Sans couldn’t tell if the knife had slipped out during his wild gesturing or if it had been a purposeful throw. Neither Papyrus or Sans said anything for a very long moment. It was hard to breathe. Sans couldn’t remove the knife without worsening the tear in his scarf, a precious keepsake from... someone. Someone who had been really important to him, at some point. He would have to remove the knife carefully or the cut fabric would end up cut so much worse, and Sans wasn’t- he’s never had to repair his scarf before, wound together with a familiar but entirely strange magic that felt of home. 

“Sans-“ 

Sans tore the knife out of his scarf, threw it on the table, and was in his room before Papyrus could finish. 

“Hi, Alphys,” Sans greeted the next day. Alphys hummed absently, looking down at the paper attached to a clipboard in her hands. She was quickly jotting something down in a messy scrawl. 

“Hey, Sans,” she greeted even more absently. Alphys glanced up and did a double-take. 

“Woah; what happened to your scarf? Trying to look more edgy or something?”

“Uh, not exactly-“ Sans tried to explain, but he couldn’t get any further because Alphys had turned back to her clipboard. 

Something thick and obstructive felt like it was lodged in Sans’ soul, in his throat, spreading through his chest, and he tried to ignore it. 

“I, uh. Pappy- Papyrus, I mean, he... we had a fight, after I got home yesterday,” Sans explained, feeling jittery enough to rattle at any moment. 

Alphys hummed with vague encouragement, brows furrowing as she stared down at her clipboard. 

“A-and... and... I’m sure it was just, uh. The... the heat of the moment!... You know? I mean, we all say and do things we don’t mean when we’re angry, right? But, I mean, he threw a knife! And-and you know, I really love this scarf, it was given to me by someone important, you know, but Papyrus still-“

“Sans, ENOUGH,” Alphys snapped, and Sans shrank back, hurt. She took an obvious deep breath before speaking in a more gentle tone. “Look, I’m really busy right now. I’m sure that Papyrus didn’t mean whatever it was, and that he’ll say sorry the next time you see him. Okay? But I really do have to finish this, it’s really important. Can we talk later?”

“... Okay,” he agreed in a small, totally unfamiliar voice. Alphys shot him a grin, patting his shoulder. “That’s the spirit!” She encouraged. And with that, Alphys continued on in scribbling margins in the little available white parts of her paper. 

Sans knew this wasn’t necessarily him being blown off. He really, really did know that. Alphys was pretty busy as the Captain of the Royal Guard! Sans KNEW that. He just... expected a moment or two of her time, not as a Captain, but as his friend. Maybe Sans had... gotten too attached too fast. Maybe he’d been misreading their relationship? Alphys might have been considering what they had as more of a professional kind of thing than friendship. 

Sans didn’t mean to... mostly avoid Papyrus. Well, that was a bit of a lie, but Sans was kind of a habitual liar so that was fine. They just... never really discussed the knife incident. No apologies were said for the words they snapped so harshly at one another. It was almost as it had never happened, if it weren’t for the uncomfortable atmosphere that was just easier to not address. He didn’t end up avoiding Alphys at all, but Sans found himself quieter around her, ignoring her concerned looks out of the corner of his eye. They continued sparring, and that was all that really mattered in the end; someone who sparred regularly with the Captain couldn’t possibly be considered weak, after all, and that sort of reputation would be IMPORTANT for a career in the Royal Guard. 

His HP couldn’t possibly hold him back if he had the Captain’s own ringing endorsement, right? Maybe he could even set records, if only to himself, and if Papyrus kept just how low his stats were to himself. 

Sans’ teeth grit, and he couldn’t help the somewhat harsh scuff of his boot against the floor of the Waterfall cavern he found himself in. That was enough. It HAD to be enough. Sans WANTED that more than anything; he just had to continue working hard at it. 

For his twentieth birthday, Sans was officially hired as a Sentry of Snowdin. It wasn’t quite Royal Guard status, but Sentries had their own sort of noble pride about them. At the very least, it was something to do with his days, an excuse to be out of the house and away from Papyrus’ weird and worsening moods that were as interchangeable as... Well, probably the weather from what Sans had read of the Surface. That was supposed to be pretty unpredictable, so it would certainly suit Papyrus just now. 

Sans wondered if Alphys knew whether or not it was his birthday when she officially hired him. She wouldn’t be the only one if she didn’t know; Sans found that he couldn’t be sure Papyrus even remembered in the increasingly unhappy state he was in more and more often, twitchier and jumping at shadows without any discernible cause. Sans even found Papyrus wandering aimlessly through the forest a few times, looking impossibly stiff and exhausted. 

With the way things were, Sans found that the only way to possibly cheer himself up was Grillby’s. So, after a long day that was mostly a couple of the the dogs helpfully showing Sans just what the proper procedure for filing incidents and other paperwork was, Sans decided he was definitively going to treat himself to a couple of spicy donuts, and he WASN’T going to feel bad, AT. ALL. 

The bell above the doorway chimed softly in the quiet air when Sans stepped through, and Sans found himself blinking around in a sort of bemused manner that it was so empty inside the cafe. A bit relieved despite himself that he’d only have to explain his late presence to Grillby, Sans shot the fire monster a polite smile. 

“Hey, Grillby,” he greeted. The fire monster dipped his head, the wispy pale imprints of a smile stretching across Grillby’s face like golden smoke. Sans beamed; it was unusual for Grillby to be feeling pleasant enough to put in the effort of a visible smile. 

“Happy birthday,” Grillby greeted in his incredibly thick and somewhat archaic accent, sounding like a crackling fire to anyone who didn’t know better. Sans grinned ever wider, pleased and flattered. 

“You remembered?” He questioned with delight. Grillby shoved forth a cupcake across the smooth counter while Sans hopped up a seat. It didn’t have a candle or anything like that (understandable; flames created by Grillby just turned into his little firelings), but it was clearly fresh and hand made. Sans was incredibly humbled and even a bit moved by the sincerity. 

“How could I forget?” Grillby chuckled, smoke escaping where his mouth was with each slow breath. Adjusting his bow tie, the fire monster leaned forward curiously. 

“Where’s Papyrus?” 

Sans, about to take a bit from the cupcake, paused and hesitated. He sighed, setting down the incredibly tasty-looking pastry. 

“I... don’t think Papyrus remembers its my birthday,” he admitted, embarrassed. Grillby tilted his head, eyes widening. He gestured for further elaboration with a quick gesture in Hands, clearly done with verbal words. Sans shrugged, 

“He’s been weird! Or, weirder... Lately he’s just been wandering around Snowdin forest, did you know?” Sans admitted hurriedly, voice hushing like he was sharing a secret. Grillby shook his head, appearing confused by this. 

“Well, I didn’t know either until I caught him! And he acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world, you know? And...” Here Sans hesitated even more because this WAS actually a secret, if somewhat embarrassing. Taking a bite of cupcake for icing courage, Sans continued much more quietly. 

“... He’s been drinking a lot more, and I can smell he’s been smoking even though he doesn’t do it in the house. And... he’s been so angry,” Sans sighed. Grillby flashed a few signs in Hands in quick succession, looking worried. 

“I’m okay,” Sans reassured the much older monster hastily. “It’s just... kinda difficult sometimes! But Papyrus HAS to grow out of this funk he’s in at some point, right?” 

Grillby didn’t look too convinced, but that was fine, Sans reflected as he munched miserably on his birthday cupcake. Neither was he. 

When Sans walked into work that morning to report to Alphys, he immediately knew something was very, very wrong. None of the dogs would look him in the eye, and the one time he’d managed to catch Dogamy’s gaze the poor monster had yelped and turned tail the complete other way, brushing straight pass Alphys herself to jump out the window. 

... So, yeah. Sans knew it was going to be bad, and he had a feeling that somehow, someway, he was stuck in the thick of it. 

Alphys herself looked imposing in a way she tended to not be amongst her fellow Guards and sentries, standing straight and decked out in full armor. Absently, Sans began to wonder if there was a dusting to investigate. Perhaps someone had Fallen Down? 

“... Sans,” Alphys said. She almost sounded... regal, in a way. Sans wondered if this is what Alphys sounded like when she spoke to the queen. 

“... Uh, yes, Captain?” He attempted when it was clear Alphys was waiting for a response. Alphys didn’t look away, her gaze penetrating and expression blank, entirely bereft of emotion. 

“I was speaking with someone this morning, you know.” She began in conversational way, but Sans only stood up more stiffly. This felt... like a very dangerous, and very important conversation they were having here. Nothing quite so tame as talking about morning happenings. 

Sans swallowed and needed a moment to simply breathe or else his voice would have broken mid-word.

“Oh... Um. How did that go?” He asked in an attempt to continue the casual veneer. Alphys continued staring, and Sans began to anxiously sweat. 

“It was an interesting conversation,” Alphys said quietly with uncharacteristic diplomatic neutrality. 

He made a thin noise of agreement, not sure he wanted Alphys to continue but knowing he didn’t really have a choice. Alphys patted something behind her, on the desk she used to review files and paperwork that all Royal Guards and sentries were required to send her. It was a book; more specifically, a law book. 

“Do you know,” the scaled monster asked quietly, “what the minimum, legal bare minimum your HoPe has to be to have a spot in the Royal Guard?” 

No.

“Because I heard something very interesting this morning from a particularly interesting source.”

No, no, no-

“Sans,” Alphys said more than asked in a whisper that may as well have been a shout in the sudden silence. “What’s your HP.” 

He couldn’t even open his mouth.

Alphys didn’t respond, waiting patiently. She simply stood there, the executioner of his dreams, of his ambitions. 

“Sans,” she repeated, voice painfully gentle. 

He couldn’t breathe, and she stood there with painful sincerity exuding her soul, compassion writ into every part of her being except her face, and Sans knew that Alphys was steeling herself. 

“I’m your best sentry,” Sans choked out.

Alphys didn’t say anything. 

“You’ve never- you’ve NEVER been able to h-hit me, when we spar.”

Silence. 

“I-I-I’ve never... I’ve never failed an assignment, my paperwork has always been on time and perfect and-“ 

“Sans,” Alphys interrupted gently. He was choking on the poison that was her gentleness, the invisible icy claws poised over his soul sinking in and grabbing his hopes with relentless cruelty. 

Alphys walked forward. She didn’t touch him, or give any physical attempt at offering empathy. It was a small mercy. She looked down on him, seeing Sans without truly seeing him, looking through him to the heart of the matter- 

“I’m more than my HoPe,” Sans said in a rattling, breathless whisper. Alphys’ face was indecipherable even when he could feel her sympathy, her burning acid-like pity. 

“It’s the law,” she sidestepped. 

It felt like a blow to his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. 

It burned worse than being flat out fired. 

“... You’re right. You are my best sentry. But I can’t... I can NOT, in good conscience, allow someone with a HoPe as low as one remain on sentry duty.” 

Sans wanted to scream and rage at the unfairness of it all. Alphys was braced as if she were prepared for just this, like she would just gently take it all, and Sans felt spiteful enough to prove her wrong once last time. 

So. With a deep, painful shudder, Sans stood ramrod straight, and he slowly, stiffly turned around with immeasurable pride. He was proud, he told himself. It probably would have happened anyways. There was no shame in being forced off the Sentries because of a quirk of biology that had only just been discovered when everyone knew how capable he was by now, when someone had just happened to let it slip-

Sans almost stumbled over his own feet. 

... There was only one person who would have possibly let slip his HP. 

Sans must have run home. That was the only explanation as to why he was panting, the door slammed open. He felt jittery, like a shambling stranger in his own body. Everything felt distant as if seen through a foggy dream right up until Sans saw Papyrus, his older brother sitting at the kitchen table without a care in the world. 

Once, a couple of years ago, Papyrus could have killed Sans in that exact spot if Sans hadn’t been fast enough to duck. Sans intended to return the favor. 

“Oh, hey bro,” Papyrus greeted lazily, every word coming out of his mouth grating on Sans’ nerves like nails on a chalkboard. 

Sans needed a moment to catch his breath, and Papyrus was clearly taking this moment to continue speaking amiably. His sockets were half lidded, and Sans was briefly distracted from the all consuming rage in his soul to incredulously wonder if Papyrus was high. 

“How was work?”

The rage was suddenly back, pitiless and black and so encompassing that Sans didn’t care about catching his breath, he didn’t care about anything except how satisfying it would feel to crash his fist against Papyrus’ stupid face because he ruined EVERYTHING-

Sans hit the chair, Papyrus suddenly across the room and watching him curiously. 

“You know,” his older brother pointed out. “Most people at least go ‘I’m so-and-so, you killed my father, prepare to die’ before it gets to this.”

“I,” Sans panted, hands clenching and unclenching restlessly at his side’s. “Am going. To end you. Do you KNOW what you’ve done?!” 

“Uhhhh...” Papyrus absently tapped a cigarette he wasn’t even bothering to hide, very casually lighting it as if Sans hadn’t just tried to hit him. “... I... Had a pretty good nap?” 

“I’M GOING TO SMASH YOUR SKULL IN!” Sans shrieked, voice reaching an as of yet undiscovered shrillness he had no idea he was capable of. 

Papyrus winced. “Woah. Harsh, bro.”

“I GOT FIRED!” He snapped, flinging a bone attack at Papyrus. It missed and got stuck in the wall. Papyrus was eying him more cautiously now, probably only just now noticing this wasn’t the usual sort of run of the mill fit or temper tantrum. “BECAUSE! OF! YOU!” 

Papyrus, dodging the flurry of bones that accompanied each syllable, did a double-take. 

“What, really? Bro... that’s-“ 

Sans shut his brother up with another attack just because he knew the next word out of his brother’s mouth was going to be disgustingly positive, that Papyrus was going to say something along the lines of how GREAT that was, Sans could start doing something SAFER, something more SUITABLE for a monster with HoPe as low as his. 

NEWSFLASH. IT WAS NOT GREAT, AT ALL. 

Papyrus, however, was grinning cheekily and looking so, so proud of himself, like this was all just a game. 

(The result of a possibility, something whispered. Something that could happen in just the right circumstances, something that could be fun or exciting to bear witness to when things were always the same and repeating. The whisper sounded like something Temmie would say, that old unnerving scoundrel.) 

“Bro, I mean- c’mon, you know, isn’t this better? You were kinda lying to Al before,” Papyrus said in what he probably thought was a comforting tone. It was the kind of tone you used on a babybones who was being silly, who was scared of humans in the closet or under their bed. 

It was so... infuriatingly condescending. Sans hated it. 

For a terrible, furious moment, Sans couldn’t distinguish the hate he held for the situation from what he felt for Papyrus. 

But Papyrus wasn’t sorry, Sans realized. He knew this already, of course, but... it really hit him, in that moment, looking at his older brother. Papyrus was stuck in the past, clinging to whatever shadows haunted him, forever seeing Sans as that same babybones who used to run to him for comfort. 

But now Papyrus was like the humans he used to be worried would hide in his closet, haunting and dogging his steps. Making Sans miserable, and uncomfortable to be in his own home. And now Sans didn’t even have his Sentry work, because he’d gotten fired because Papyrus was ruining everything, like something unspeakably awful and cruel and Sans hated-

Sans, in that moment, simply hated. 

It was hard to breathe again, and from more than mere exertion. His bone attacks faded, no longer sustained without his will and magic power keeping them solid. Not that it would matter, he acknowledged bitterly. One Attack, one Defense, one HoPe. 

The weakest enemy, he knew. 

Sans stared at Papyrus, and Papyrus stared back with the same stupid, damned smile on his face, looking more and more like he was on his way to being high out of his mind. 

Sans exhaled slowly. The hate didn’t abate. He wanted to hurt Papyrus. He really, sincerely wanted Papyrus to know what it was like to have his dreams ripped away. Papyrus couldn’t say the same about his promising career in engineering because he’d gone and THROWN that away. Sans had never even had the chance to try something like that because they’d never had the money to send him to college. 

Sans never had the chance because Papyrus had never really bothered to try just that extra inch for him. 

Sans had always, always been picking up the slack for Papyrus at work from the moment he’d been hired, and even before. 

Sans had been putting up with Papyrus spiraling downwards for the past eight, almost nine years. 

Sans had literally just been fired from the job he’d put several years worth of ambitions into, working his tail off, because of Papyrus. 

Sans... was DONE with Papyrus. 

He stiffly turned around, uncaring of where his feet might carry him. Not Waterfall, where Alphys usually hung around. Not Hotland; it always gave him a headache visiting there for too long. So that left the Capital, which was ridiculously out of his way, or further into Snowdin forest. 

“Hey, Sans? What about the mess?” Papyrus called from behind him. 

“Fuck off and figure it out yourself,” Sans threw with freeing carelessness over his shoulder, stomping away to the sound of Papyrus’ shocked spluttering. 

Sans, still thrumming with furious energy, glared at anyone unlucky enough to get in his way. The sight of always-pleasant Sans, usually with a kind word to spare anyone, practically snarling like something gone feral was enough to send the few monsters he crossed paths with scurrying out of Sans’ way. 

When Sans reached as far he could go — the purple doors that lead into the Ruins, closed as always — he stood there for a moment before angrily kicking the stupid purple stone, just because it was there and was something to hit. It actually made Sans feel slightly better, but that didn’t say much considering just how furious he was, so he started yelling with every kick he gave to the stone. 

“STUPID! FUCKING! ARGH! I HATE THIS, FUCKING-!” 

“Well,” said a voice in Sans’ ear, “I didn’t know someone could be quite THIS angry at a door.”

Sans jumped, nerves shot all to hell and leaving him jumpier than a rabbit having a heart attack. 

“Whattheactualfuck,” He wheezed, clutching at his chest like he might actually have a heart attack. Or soul attack, as it were, if such a thing existed. 

The monster standing beside him was... well, unlike any monster Sans had ever met. They — he? — were a skeleton who’s entire body (and clothes, upon closer inspection) appeared to be a thick, black, tar-like substance. It dripped off the monster liberally, but never seemed to land on the ground. Sans looked up to meet the other monster’s face, annoyed he HAD to look up to meet the one eye that appeared from their equally black face, and Sans almost grimaced at how the other skeleton’s grin seemed to sharpen, as if he could sense Sans’ irritation spiking. 

“... No,” the skeleton finally said, chuckling softly. “No, I don’t think you’re mad at this door at all, are you? I AM quite interested in what you ARE mad at, however.” 

“I don’t even know you,” Sans pointed out, trying not to squirm at how uncomfortably close the skeleton was leaning over him. 

“Well,” said the monster with a sense of faux-thoughtfulness. “My name is Nightmare. So there, I dare say you now know me.” 

Sans frowned. 

“... I’m Sans,” He finally introduced himself reluctantly, manners winning out over caution. 

Nightmare took the hand that was snaking towards his pocket to rest, and Sans blinked at the sensation he could feel through the tips of his fingers. Then his mind caught up with Nightmare’s actions, and he flushed a dark blue. 

“Uh,” he tried to say, totally ignored as Nightmare looked him up and down with a critical eye. 

“Yes, this is quite an... unusual AU, I should think,” The monster hummed. Sans kind of felt like a particularly clever pet being told he could do a trick. 

“Thanks?” He said anyways, unsure if that was a compliment. Nightmare gave Sans a smile that was just a shade too wide to be comfortable to look at. Sans’ hand was still in Nightmare’s grasp, and he couldn’t figure out a way out that didn’t involve shouting something like STRANGER DANGER. 

“Now,” Said Nightmare, suddenly right in Sans’ face, the steel-tight grip he had on Sans’ hand somehow enough to keep Sans from falling over even as he leaned back, startled. 

“About what it is that has you so furious... care to share?” 

Nightmare gave another one of those too-wide grins that looked like it would have been completely at home on a wanted poster of Jack the Ripper. 

The reminder of why Sans was out here, in the depths of Snowdin’s forest surrounded by nothing by snow and trees and the entrance to the Ruins, made Sans twitch. Nightmare breathed deeply, as if basking in it. 

“... Yes, a special kind of AU indeed,” the monster seemed to murmur under his breath, finding something about this amusing. 

Sans couldn’t help the startled twinge deep in his soul as Nightmare gave him a look sharper than his smile. 

“With that kind of hate inside you... I think you could become someone very, very useful.” 

“I’m already useful,” Sans blurted automatically- 

Except. Except... that... wasn’t true, anymore. Sans wasn’t a Sentry, because he’d gotten fired. 

Fired because-

“Ah - as much as I do enjoy this, I’m afraid you’ll have to pay attention to me right now, Sans.” 

Blinking, Sans glanced up warily at Nightmare. Such a strange, unusual monster. Sans had never see or heard of anyone quite like him. 

“I’d almost believe you were from Underfell with how you feel.” Nightmare seemed darkly amused by the thought, and Sans couldn’t help a nervous swallow. 

“What, uh. What’s Underfell?” He asked numbly. 

Nightmare chuckled, and they were almost nose to nose by now. Only Nightmare’s right grip kept Sans from falling backwards. 

“I could show you,” Nightmare breathed. “Surely, when you’re so angry... when you have all this hate buried away inside of you... you could use a bit of perspective. A choice in how you live rather than seeing the same sights every day of your life, stuck in this cavern living a meaningless existence.” 

“... You’re talking like you can leave the Underground,” Sans forced himself to say. 

“You could say that,” Nightmare hummed, way too close to be comfortable. Sans couldn’t help but notice how his soul felt like it might just hop out of his ribs and float away just for a bit of space. 

“I could... bring you anywhere you desire,” Nightmare said, voice smooth and silky, and probably what humans imagined the devil to sound like. 

What he was offering couldn’t be real. It absolutely could NOT, and Sans knew this. 

He knew this, and yet-

“Can you prove it?”

Nightmare’s smile reached eldritch-level unnerving. 

“I do believe I can.” 

A moment later, the only witnesses to the unusual encounter in a lone, forgotten offshoot of an Underswap timeline was the snow, the trees, the lone purple door of the Ruins, and a single camera hidden in a bush.


End file.
